


circuits

by buffys



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: Friendship, Other, Skateboarding, Warning for a somewhat liberal use of curse words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29364891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffys/pseuds/buffys
Summary: Hawk wasn’t sure what Miguel had been expecting, having washed his hands clean of skateboarding, and bike riding, and anything else on wheels ever since his accident, but he’d still winced the first time Miguel'd gotten back on his skateboard after close to a year of being off it, and had immediately slipped and fallen off to the side, landing on the cold, hard asphalt with a muted groan, face pressed against the ground.
Relationships: Miguel Diaz & Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	circuits

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really small one.

Hawk sat on the curb in the parking lot of Miguel’s apartment complex.

It was a sunny day. Sunny for Winter. Not that California during the Wintertime got especially dark or anything, but it was 4:30 p.m. and the sun was still out, and that wasn’t usually the case in January.

But he was glad for it because it meant sitting outside with his sneakers pressed against the ground, knees to his chest, arms around his legs, and eyes on Miguel as he walked around the parking lot — in the space they’d carved out just for them, away from all the dingy Sedans and Hippie vans — trying to gather the courage to get back on his busted up skateboard. A skateboard he’d apparently had for over three years and never bothered to replace.

His hair was plastered against his forehead with sweat, even though there was a slight, chilly breeze sweeping through the area, getting progressively colder the longer they stayed out.

They’d been here for about two hours already. Miguel’d gotten bored of playing video games in his room, of getting beaten by Hawk during Far Cry 5, so he’d started to just wander around the virtual landscape, playing fetch with Boomer, before abruptly shutting down the little TV Carmen had bought for him, suggesting they go outside so he could get some exercise.

He’d said his back had started hurting, so Hawk hadn’t wanted to argue. Hadn’t seen any reason to anyway. So he’d agreed and Miguel had pulled his skateboard out from under his bed — where he’d shoved it not long after coming home from the hospital almost half a year ago, pissed off and cranky at just about everything and everyone, but mostly just tired of being let down — and they’d headed out the door with Carmen calling at their backs, telling them not to be out too late.

Hawk wasn’t sure what Miguel had been expecting, having washed his hands clean of skateboarding, and bike riding, and anything else on wheels ever since his accident, but he’d still winced the first time Miguel'd gotten back on his skateboard after close to a year of being off it, and had immediately slipped and fallen off, landing on the cold, hard asphalt with a muted groan, face pressed against the ground.

The second and third times hadn’t been any better, but Miguel was persistent, something he’d picked up from his various lessons at Cobra Kai, or maybe, something he’d always had, some quality that not even getting kicked off a balcony and nearly dying could take away.

Because he kept coming back.

He kept getting on his skateboard, and he kept falling, and he kept getting scrapes and bruises while Hawk watched off to the side, trying to be supportive, mostly just feeling useless, and he kept getting on. He kept trying.

Eventually, some kids from the complex had come out and started watching the whole process. Miguel, getting on the skateboard. Miguel, falling off the skateboard. Miguel, getting right back on the skateboard after sparing some seconds to regroup on the ground.

They hadn’t cheered him on. Because why would they. Kids were shitheads, and life wasn’t some teenage sports movie filled with spilled Gatorade and Hot Babes and nerds winning instead of losing, losing, losing.

They’d started jeering instead.

Started calling him a pussy and a “perra estúpida”, whatever that meant. Miguel had kind of laughed at that one. Kind of gazed fondly at the little kid who’d shouted it at him, holding onto some grimy ice cream cone, a smear of chocolate on his cheek, while he mimed Miguel falling onto the ground in front of his friends.

But then they’d gotten bored and left. When they’d realized what Hawk had realized hours before: Miguel wouldn’t stop until he made a clean circuit around the parking lot without falling off.

And even though he’d known this, he’d still tried to convince him to leave about an hour before. Had said, “Come on, man. We can try again tomorrow or something. It’s getting kind of late.”

But Miguel had just looked at him, a furrow in-between his brows, and said seriously, “I’m not a quitter.”

Hawk hadn’t tried to backpedal. Hadn’t tried to tell him that he hadn’t been insinuating he was one. He’d known it wouldn’t matter.

So, he sat on the curb in the parking lot of Miguel’s apartment complex. Wind blowing across his face, rustling the loose threads hanging off his cut-off jean shorts, meeting a solid block of resistance via his red mohawk, and he waited for Miguel to finally make that circuit.


End file.
